


Down the Rocky Road

by Mirradin



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Altered Mental States, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Because of the sex pollen, Biting, Caves, Dubious Consent, F/M, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Oral Sex, Romantic Gestures, Sex In A Cave, Sex Pollen, Shapeshifting, Size Difference, Size Kink, Strength Kink, Xenobiology, although everyone is very enthusiastic at the time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-24
Updated: 2017-09-24
Packaged: 2019-01-04 23:58:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12179010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mirradin/pseuds/Mirradin
Summary: It was meant to be a nice gesture. Just go down to the alien planet to get some Altaean plants for the Castle. They weren't planning on being trapped in a cave, and Allura definitely wasn't prepared for a supposedly long-extinct Altaean aphrodisiac.Although...Hunk and Lance aren't really complaining. Quite the opposite, actually....





	Down the Rocky Road

**Author's Note:**

> For the purposes of keeping everyone aware...the sex pollen involved here has an extreme, noticeable on Allura (think sending her into a rut state), in which her thinking is significantly altered.

“Maybe we could take a break?”

Lance’s voice breaks into Allura’s reverie. She blinks, shaking her head. “Pardon?”

The two Legs of Voltron blink back at her. Both of them are loaded down with plants; Lance’s armour is stained up to the knees with yellow juice from the plants whose seeds are crammed into the “backpack” he borrowed from Pidge – oh, dear, something in there appears to be leaking, Pidge won’t like that – and both of the heavy satchels slung over Hunk’s shoulders are bulging. A spray of assorted leaves pokes out of one, and the other is covered in sticky burrs and streaks of mud.

“A break,” Lance repeats. “We’ve been out here for hours, it’s a nice day, nothing trying to kill us, we’ve found tons of these plants, and there’s a pool right there!” He waves a hand to his right, where the stream they’ve been following along the base of the cliff for the last varga or so has been joined by a little waterfall pouring down the rock face, creating a pool of clear water. “Let’s take a break.”

“Are you all right, Princess?” Hunk asks, his brows furrowed in concern.

Allura waves him off with a smile that comes harder than it should. “I’m fine, Hunk. Just enjoying the view.”

She is, truly. The planet of Ykromina is a beautiful one. It’s located slightly closer to its sun than Altaea was to hers, but the planet’s extensive shallow oceans mean that the average temperature is slightly lower. The climate is honestly glorious, but that’s not what has her distracted.

Ykronima was a barren planet twenty thousand years ago. Its current state of gorgeous life is the result of a joint terraforming effort between this system’s native race, the Mupalti…and the Altaeans.

And now, ten thousand years after Zarkon’s victory, there are Altaean flowers blooming on Ykronima, and Altaean insects humming between them, and even a few Altaean _birds_ – and Allura, standing on a planet she never even visited before she went into cryo, for all that the Mupalti were among Altaea’s oldest allies and Ykronima was the cornerstone of their friendship, breathes in the familiar fragrances and feels impossibly, _joyfully_ at home.

A bright blue flitterkit flaps past, its six tiny wings rippling methodically. It hovers clumsily above the water for a handful of seconds, then flutters away down the stream. The iridescent scales on its abdomen shimmer in the sunlight reflecting off the water. Allura’s seen more flitterkits than she could begin to count in her lifetime; the Palace gardens were full of them. Here and now, it’s a tiny, brilliant miracle.

She catches her eyes trying to follow the insect and hastily drags them back to the paladins in front of her. The bags they carry are crammed with Altaean seeds, enough to plant every green-room in the Castle. The weight must be wearyingly heavy to human bodies, but Hunk and Lance haven’t complained once. It was Hunk’s idea, actually, to come with her and collect seeds from the plants she recognised, and neither he nor Lance had listened when she’d told them they should enjoy the break, instead.

Both of them are sweaty and mud-splattered, their once-pristine armour blotched with green. Hunk’s gauntlets are a muddy rainbow of colours from digging through dirt and trying to pluck large, delicate pod fruits out of trees, and Lance has enough burrs to plant a small garden caught in his hair – he only washed it this morning, didn’t he?

Allura feels a twinge of guilt. The two of them didn’t have to accompany her to Ykronima. They could have spent one of their rare days off training or relaxing, instead of digging through the local flora to gather seeds and plants, and yet they’ve both been relentlessly enthusiastic all morning. Allura suspects it’s more for her benefit than because either of them cares about growing juniberries, but she appreciates the effort. Lance hasn’t even done more than jokingly grumble about the mud, despite the care Allura knows he puts into his appearance. Perhaps – no, he’s right. They’ve earned a rest.

Perhaps it will give her a chance to get her head together. Heaven knows her paladins deserve better.

“A rest sounds nice,” she admits, smiling at Lance, whose eyes widen in surprise. “Half a varga, no more. We do need to get back to the Castle before evening.”

Lance gapes for a moment before throwing his hand skywards in the gesture she understands is called a ‘fist-pump’. “Yes! Race you into the water, Hunk!”

The last words are shouted over his shoulder as Lance breaks into a run in the direction of the pool, swinging Pidge’s backpack down off one shoulder as he goes. The heavy bag slithers down his arm and drags him sharply to the side; Lance stumbles sideways, his feet skidding. Allura expects him to end up flat on the ground, but Lance somehow manages to stay on his feet by flinging his arms out and turning the movement into a pirouette. Allura blinks. That was surprisingly agile.

“Oh, you’re _on_!” Hunk calls after him. He starts after Lance at a slower pace, more cautious of the slippery footing. The satchels bounce against his legs, the contents threatening to spill free, and Hunk grabs at one to hold it closed.

Allura follows them at a more sedate pace. She has no desire to go for a swim herself, but someone should remain on guard. Just in case.

Granted, so far Ykronima hasn’t shown any signs of dangerous wildlife. And the nearest Mupalti settlement is a good five hundred miles away. And the Galra haven’t been present in this system for over three local years, and their presence in this region of space is low by any standards. Still, it’s best to be safe. Hunk and Lance are capable young paladins, more skilled than they should be given the limited time they’ve spent in the roles, but they have a long way to go before they have the experience and ability of the Paladins of old.

Lance drops Pidge’s backpack casually by a fallen log and starts shedding his armour with careless ease, hands flying nimbly across the catches and buckles of his armour. He’s grown a lot quicker at it since the first time they met, and quickly a neat pile of berry-stained armour is stacked up beside the log.

Hunk catches up to him a moment later, plants still safely packed despite their best efforts. He skids slightly in the mud before coming to a stop, then takes hold of one of the satchels and tries to lift it over his head. The straps have other ideas, tangling snare-like around his helmet. Hunk wrestles with one, then the other, then groans.

Lance looks up at him with a quick smile from the boot he’s pulling off. “You need a hand there, buddy?”

“No, I’m –” Hunk tugs at the straps again and gives up when they tighten enough that Allura can see them straining. “Okay, yeah. Please.”

“Allow me,” Allura offers hastily. She steps forward to help and Hunk bends down to give her easier access. One of the straps presses against his skin, just beneath his small human ear. On a whim, she runs her finger up the curve of it, making Hunk laugh.

“Hey, no tickling –” He bats at her hand and Allura relents, laughing.

The straps aren’t too hard to sort out once she focuses on them; sometime in the day’s scrambles through vegetation they’ve caught around each other and the corner of the jetpack, but it’s the work of a few ticks for Allura to unhook them. She helps Hunk lift the heavy satchels off with hands that aren’t trembling at all, and keeps her composure when he settles them down gently next to Pidge’s backpack and offers her a grateful smile. “Thanks, Princess.”

A sudden surge of affection catches Allura in the chest. She manages to keep her smile appropriate and speak past the lump in her throat, some nonsense about being happy to help. It must be good enough, because Hunk gives her one more smile, warm and friendly, and turns away to remove his armour.

Allura sinks down on a log and tries to regain her composure, though the warm glow under her ribs makes that hard. It’s Ykronima’s similarity to Altaea, it must be – she’s been locking herself down against the loss of her planet for so long, and now being in a place that’s so familiar has her off balance.

She takes a deep breath to steady herself, and inadvertently closes her eyes when the familiar scent of koorooko sap floods her nose, shockingly strong. The smell isn’t especially beautiful – Koorooko trees have an acrid edge to them – but it’s profoundly _right_ in a way she senses down in her bones. If anything, the sour tinge makes the forest smell like a living landscape instead of a garden.

She belongs here. It’s not just her nostalgia for her home and her world. It’s a plain fact of biology, even for a race as advanced as her own. These plants are what her people evolved to live with. A part of her – the old, old part that knows _danger_ and _hunger_ , the animal part that cares about survival – is at home here. It’s like an animal that’s found a territory, and is now sending out subconscious, powerful signals of _yes, this is home, this is mine._

(Another corner of her mind, fainter but annoyingly insistent, says _mate. Den._ It’s interested in the traces of sweat and skin on the discarded armour. Allura ignores it firmly before it can get any more funny ideas.)

Well, powerful or no, she can’t afford to let old evolutionary relics distract her from her duties. Someone needs to keep an eye on their surroundings, even if this place does feel as safe as her old room in the Palace. (The one with her favourite tapestry – no, there’s no use going there. She’s weak enough already.)

A whoop splits the air. Distracted, Allura startles upright, her eyes snapping open and her hands reaching for something to use as a weapon –

Lance whoops again, bouncing on his toes, then swings his arms forward and dives into the pool. He’s stripped down to nothing but his underwear, and his lean body splits the water as cleanly as a knife. He resurfaces before the echoes of the splash have finished dying away, with his hair plastered to his head and a frond of pondweed draped over one ear, shakes the water out of his eyes, and cheers as Hunk takes a running jump and hits the water like a cannonball.

The two of them commence to some complicated game of splashing water and deliberately trying to dunk each other’s’ heads under. If there are any rules at all, Allura can’t make them out, but the two of them seem to be having fun. Their delighted voices ring off the cliff, mingling with the splashing water into a cheerful cacophony.

Despite her resolution to hold onto her dignity – and watch out for trouble – Allura catches herself watching from the corner of her eye as Lance leaps up behind Hunk and wraps his arms around his fellow Paladin’s neck, trying to drag him backwards into the water. Hunk flails, catches at Lance’s arm, and bends forward, heaving Lance clumsily over his head. Lance hangs on like a limpet and both of them go under, to emerge in a flailing tangle seconds later.

It does look like fun. Allura smiles to herself and straightens out her skirt. Clearly this is some game from their home planet, from the obvious glee with which they splash each other. It’s good that she’s not the only one enjoying this trip.

She’s so engrossed in their play, so distracted by the familiar scents of Ykronima, that the first flicker in the air completely goes past her. The leaves rattle on the koorooko trees and fall back to stillness. The light wavers, a momentary flutter, but Allura’s caught up in Hunk’s attempt to dangle Lance by his ankles, and misses the first warning signs.

Then the light wavers again. Something about that waver snags Allura’s attention. She frowns, looking around.

The wind…stutters.

It recovers a moment later, then drops again, gusting in sharp churning bursts. The fallen leaves scuttle over the ground, fallen flowers batted about by the erratic breeze. Allura stares at them. This isn’t normal weather for Ykronima. Something’s going on.

The light wavers again. This time she feels the shock of pressure that accompanies it.

Allura stiffens in suspicion.

It can’t be – it shouldn’t be. But on Altaea –

Another flicker in the light, this one even sharper and accompanied by a bow-wave of pressure that makes her ear-tips throb. The noise from the pool dies away as Hunk and Lance notice the change and leave off their play to look up in confusion. It is. Oh, quiznak, it is, and they need to move _now_.

“Come on!” she shouts, jumping to her feet and running towards the water. Hunk and Lance are still looking up at the sky, waist-deep in water and infuriatingly slow in their confusion. The light wavers again, so strongly that Allura nearly slips when she can’t see the ground properly, and in the wake of the thrum of pressure the wind skitters like a fly-stung jumiac, whisking spray off the waterfall like fragments of a chopped veil.

There’s a cave by the waterfall, half-hidden by a shrub growing beside it. Small, but it’ll do, even if the three of them end up sitting in each other’s laps.

“Princess?” Lance asks as she skids to a halt by the water. “What’s –”

“Rock-storm,” Allura interrupts, wading into the pool and grabbing both of them by the shoulders. Her shoes slip on the algae-slick stones, flat-soled things with no grip worth mentioning. A moment of effort and her toes rip through the fabric, claws extending as she reshapes her feet to handle the riverbed better and charges on, towing her Paladins with her.

“What’s a rock-storm?” Hunk asks, spluttering on a mouthful of water.

“Wait, like the ones Coran talked about?!” Lance yelps.

“A rock-storm, like we used to have on Altaea!” Allura yells back to Hunk, dragging them towards the waterfall. Another spike of pressure accompanies a light-flicker that turns the world strange colours for a long, dancing second, and the wind fairly crackles with energy.

“Our armour –”

“There’s no time!” Allura’s Altaean ears pick up the distinct sound of a blazing hot rock pellet streaking through the air. The rock-storm is coming on _fast_. She should have been more alert, shouldn’t have dithered so long. She’ll be lucky if she hasn’t got them all killed.

The cave is barely a foot above the water, the entrance lined with mosses. Allura hauls her paladins into it, relieved to find it’s larger than it looked from the other bank. The entire current crew of the Castle-ship could probably fit in here comfortably enough; there’s plenty of room for three. She shoves Hunk and Lance towards the back and hurries in after them, ducking her head under the low stone roof.

“But what _is_ a rock-storm?” Hunk asks, looking between Lance and Allura.

“Back when we were on Arus Coran once said that back on Altaea they used to get boiling hot rocks falling out of the sky,” Lance says, to Allura’s surprise. She hadn't realised Coran had discussed it with any of them, certainly nothing as trivial as rock-storms…but then, Lance is a magnet for conversation, when he isn’t flirting. Perhaps it’s not so surprising. Hunk looks at her dubiously.

“Sharp rocks,” Allura confirms. Outside, a long wavering of light precedes the eerie hissing whistle of an early rock-pellet, followed by a sharp _whap-ploosh_ as the missile strikes water. “On Altaea, we carried barrier generators, if we suspected one might be approaching. It’s a rare meteorological phenomenon. I wasn’t expecting to see it on Ykronima. My apologies, Paladins, I should have been paying closer attention.”

Lance waves it off, leaning back against the mossy wall. “Not a problem, Princess.”

“So, what do we do now?” Hunk asks. At prodding from Lance, he settles down against the other wall of the cave, eyes flickering back to the mouth of the cave. “Do we just – I don’t know – wait it out?”

“Could be worse,” Lance puts in, waggling his eyebrows at Allura. “Cosy cave, nice and dry…we could always get to know each other a little better…”

Hunk snorts and pokes him with a foot. Lance laughs and wriggles back into the moss, which releases a rich, heady scent. Something about it tugs dimly at Allura’s memory, and not at all dimly at – oh, this is _not_ the time for that. Allura presses that very inappropriate reaction back into its box.

“The rock-storm shouldn’t last for more than an hour or two,” she says instead. “There’s not much we can do from in here. The atmospheric disturbance will interfere with communications, so we’ll just have to wait for it to finish.”

“And our armour’s out there,” Hunk says, lying back against the wall with a groan. Another rush of that heady scent fills the air. In the close confines of the cave, it hovers densely, impossible to avoid. Allura shifts as far back towards the mouth of the cave as she dares, and in the brighter light, gets a clear look at the moss coating the walls and floor of the cave. She stifles a groan. Paldig moss. Wonderful.

“The Castle can synthesise more if needed,” she says, in answer to Hunk’s comment, while her mind works. Paldig moss is famous – more like infamous – for its more _interesting_ properties. Supposedly it derives trace nutrients from Altaean reproductive fluids. The chemical it releases is probably the most notorious aphrodisiac on Altaea, featuring in a good half of the more lurid romantic novels and nigh-ubiquitously in the sorts of holos a princess probably shouldn’t know about. The usual scenes have one partner holding a sprig – a very small sprig – of the stuff under the other’s nose. One deep inhale later and clothes are flying.

The cave is all but overflowing with it.

“What about the plants?”

Allura currently has very strong feelings on the subject of Altaean plants, but she makes herself look at Hunk’s face. The shifting light that precedes the rock-storm proper colours his skin in weird, dappled hues, with his eyes standing out wide and worried. He came down to Ykronima because he wanted to do something nice for her. He’s sitting in a cave, preparing to wait out a rock-storm, because of her.

“Altaean plants are adapted to this,” she says, raising her voice to be heard over the stuttering chatter of the wind and the approaching rock-fall. “The wild ones will survive. We can collect more, if the bags get hit.”

“If Pidge’s backpack gets hit by a falling rock, my life isn’t going to be worth living,” Lance says. He’s made himself comfortable, stretched out on the floor of the cave. Allura’s eyes, sharpened with paldig moss, linger on the jut of his hip under the flight suit, on the thigh crooked up against the cave wall. She drags her gaze away and it lands on Hunk, on the concern in his eyes, on his broad, gentle hands. His shoulders are broad, strong, soft under his flight suit. Something inside her growls hungrily.

She opens her mouth to reply to Lance, and its then that the rock-storm truly hits, a roar of noise that makes any conversation impossible. Both paladins wince, hands coming up to cover their ears. Allura sighs – thankfully inaudible, under the racket – and sits down gingerly in the moss. The rich scent rises around her, tempting and impossible to ignore.

Her paladins won’t – shouldn’t – be affected by it. Paldig moss is tuned to Altaean biochemistry, and the urges it creates are just – urges. It doesn’t have any impact on higher brain function. All she has to do is wait here, without reacting, until the rock-storm passes and they can leave the cave.

Allura tries to make herself comfortable, tries to tune out the sound of the rock-storm, and tries to ignore the warm, ready bodies only feet away in the darkness.

It’s going to be a long couple of hours.

**Author's Note:**

> Aaaaaand we're off! Buckle up for chapter two, where things start getting filthy!
> 
> If you liked this, drop a line and let me know! (If there's anything in particular you liked about it, I'll probably jump out of my seat.)


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